


Falling Into Your Sunlight

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: The Professional [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By chance, Ariadne wasn't killed along with her brother and mother. Her neighbor Arthur turned out to be a professional killer, so she requested his help in getting even for the deaths of her family.</p><p>For the prompt: <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/13659.html?thread=30578267#t30578267">Leon/The Professional AU. Ariadne is not a kid, make her canon age, but Arthur is a killer for hire that lives next door. After someone has killed her whole family, she wants revenge and to be trained to kill.</a> Title and chapter titles from Trading Yesterday's "Shattered."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taking All The Shattered Ones

Ariadne hated her stupid life in the low income apartment building that she lived in. Her mother had a rotating cast of boyfriends to buy food or pay rent and her older brother was a drug dealer. She stayed often after school and begged for summer school just to get away from home, or stayed at the library until closing. She loved quiet, open spaces, and was thinking of being an architect. It would be wonderful to design something beautiful that would outlast her, some way to make her mark on the world.

Ariadne was eighteen now and graduation was in two months. She was accepted to the architecture school in Chicago and couldn't wait to begin. She couldn't get out of this hell hole fast enough.

She gave the neighbor down the hall a polite smile, and he gave her a politely vague one in return. He was tall and wiry, with dark hair and brown eyes. He rarely smiled and always seemed serious, but Ariadne didn't take it personally. The building wasn't exactly a happy place to be in most of the time.

"Congratulations," her neighbor said, giving her a nod.

"Huh?" Ariadne said before she realized that she was holding the large packet for financial aid from the University of Illinois. She laughed a little. "Thanks. I finally get out of this place."

He smiled at her again and unlocked his door. Ariadne had never really noticed how handsome he was, especially when he smiled. "I'm sure you'll do great," he told her.

Ariadne grinned at him and went into her apartment, where her brother was on the phone hoping to score more heroin and her mother was arguing with her boyfriend du jour. She sighed and went to her room. Four months, and all this would be over with.

As it turned out, it would be even less time than that.

Ariadne heard shouting and the sound of crashing from her floor of the building two days later. She had just finished the financial aid packet and mailed it off, then stopped by the corner market to pick up a few things to eat.

It could always be Dom and Mal fighting again. She kept saying he was a liar and a thief, and their relationship wasn't real. Then Mal would throw things and break glasses, their children Phillipa and James would run and hide and then they'd have loud make up sex. It happened every few weeks like clockwork, and even though it wasn't their week to fight, Ariadne thought it was a good possibility.

The noises weren't coming from Dom and Mal's place, though. It was another floor up. Her floor. She approached the stairs slowly.

 _My stupid asshole brother,_ Ariadne thought suddenly, and she wondered if he was angry with her for taking the money out of his wallet, even if she was using it for a good cause. Really, he shouldn't tear apart the entire house looking for it. He could just ask her...

From the top of the stairs, she could see a group of men in the hall outside her apartment door. She could hear more inside, and her brother was screaming. She couldn't hear her mother, and she dreaded what that might mean.

One of the three at the door saw her; she couldn't go back downstairs now. Fuck.

She went to her neighbor's door instead. He had come home as she had gone out to mail her forms and had wished her luck on the package. "Please be home," she whispered as she bypassed her own apartment, heading for his. She didn't look at the men or try to see inside the apartment, though she could see overturned furniture out of the corner of her eye. Ariadne rang her neighbor's bell. "Please," she whispered, looking at the door. She could feel the thugs' eyes on her back. Uncomfortable, she could feel her eyes start to water. "Please help me," she pleaded, afraid to knock on the door and spill the groceries.

Her neighbor opened the door. His eyes flicked from her panic-stricken face to the goons behind her. "Hey, there you are," he said, face softening. He stepped aside to let her in, and she instantly felt safer.

"Thank you," she whispered. Once inside, she saw a very stark, plain apartment. Its layout was familiar, so she immediately went to the kitchen to put things away. It gave her something to do, to keep her mind off of the situation in her apartment.

He wedged a towel under the door and stood off to the side, a gun in one hand and some kind of attachment that let him see out of his peephole without standing in front of the door. He didn't pay attention to Ariadne's squeak of surprise when she saw it or to the crash of her staggering into his kitchen table and chair. He did ease his finger from the trigger, placing it outside the trigger guard.

"I'm Arthur," he said as he stepped away from the door.

"Ariadne," she said quietly.

He helped her right the chair, then sat her down in it. His hands massaged her shoulders gently, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of her neck. "I think it's safe to assume that your mother and brother are dead," he told her. She looked at him numbly. "Those men arrived a little while after you left, and they weren't subtle."

"I don't have anywhere to go," Ariadne whispered, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "I don't have anyone else now. It was just them."

Arthur looked at her awkwardly but not unkindly; Ariadne didn't know what the look on his face meant. He blew out a breath at her lost, hopeless look. "We'll check your place when they leave, okay?" He waited until she nodded at him, then took her hand in his. His thumb caressed the back of her hand softly, but he dropped her hand abruptly when he realized it. "We'll figure something out, Ariadne."

She clutched at his hand desperately, squeezing tightly. After a moment, he covered her hand with his other one, and it felt comfortable. She felt as if she was drowning, and he was her only way to stay afloat. "Thank you," she whispered, not looking at his gun. She wanted to ask why he had one, why he seemed far too comfortable handling it. But asking meant he might answer, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

He merely nodded and sat down across from her. There were only two chairs, and she had never seen guests come to his door. The gun was placed on the table with a hollow thunk.

Ariadne looked from the gun to Arthur's impassive face with large eyes, but she didn't say a word. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked finally, his voice as even as if he asked about the weather. She shook her head, not trusting her voice to speak. "Then we'll wait until they're gone, check your place. You won't be able to stay there anymore. Depending on how friendly the other neighbors are feeling, the police might be on their way."

"Then they'd catch those men, find out why they did it..."

Arthur shook his head sharply. "Not in this kind of neighborhood."

It was probably why he had chosen it, she realized. Cops wouldn't look so hard or ask many questions around here.

"Why did you help me?" Ariadne asked, voice trembling slightly.

He gave her a long, unreadable look. She felt uncomfortable in the silence, as if she had done something horribly wrong.

"I couldn't let them kill you," Arthur said finally, his voice soft. He looked down at their hands, still twined together, and let out a soft breath. The look in his eyes was intense when he finally did look at her, but she didn't know what it meant.

Ariadne let him get up and return to the living room, his gun in his hand. It seemed part of him, a natural extension of his movements. He wasn't afraid of the men that killed her mother and brother. This was an everyday occurrence in his world, and he knew what to do about it.

Some of the numbness was receding, and grief came in its place. She hated this place, hated her family and had wanted a new life. But this wasn't how she wanted to get it. Her tears fell in silence down her cheeks, and Arthur gave her the illusion of privacy.

She was suddenly so much older than she had been that morning.

"It looks like they're leaving," Arthur said softly, standing by the front door. "I say we give it an hour, just to be sure no one comes back, then you can go in for a few things."

When Arthur felt it was safe to go in, they entered the ransacked apartment. Ariadne tried not to cry when she saw the broken bodies of her mother and brother. She focused on the belongings tossed around or broken, ignoring the blood as best as she could. Arthur's approval hung heavily over her, and she moved to her tiny bedroom. It had been ransacked as well, but she had nothing worth taking. Woodenly, she got out a duffel bag to pack some clothes. Her school books and college information went into her backpack. A handful of personal items went on top of her clothes, and she got a few more things from her mother's room. Most of the valuable jewelry was already gone. Ariadne took a few of the pieces left, as well as pictures of all three of them.

"I'm ready," she rasped, approaching Arthur. He was a center of calm in the middle of chaos, the one thing that seemed to make sense. He nodded, still on alert, and took the duffel bag from her as if it weighed nothing.

Later, sitting on the twin bed in Arthur's apartment, Ariadne stared numbly at the wall as tears slid down her face. She didn't know what to think, but it was obvious that Arthur didn't use this room. Nothing in his apartment had personal touches. This was a place to rest and recuperate. It wasn't a home, wasn't even really a refuge. He intimated that he had safer places than this one if he really needed it, but didn't think it was necessary yet. Arthur sat down on the bed next to her. He was wearing a shoulder holster over his T shirt and had taken off the outer layers that had hidden it. He slung an arm around her shoulders, holding her close. "The police still haven't come," he said quietly. "No one will come."

"No one called, then," Ariadne said, her voice hoarse as if she had been screaming for hours.

"Someone called," Arthur said quietly. "I called a friend of mine that knows these things. Police were notified but no one was sent to investigate it. This means police are involved somehow."

Ariadne turned empty eyes to his face. "So what happens now?"

"What do you want to happen?"

"I want to feel safe. I want to go to school. I want to wake up and find out that I've been having a nightmare."

Arthur tightened his grip on her shoulders. "I can only help with the first two, but it would be best if you could be excused from school."

"Why?"

"If you're going to be safe, truly safe, then you need to protect yourself. You can't rely on anyone's protection but your own."

She was blank, not understanding what he was getting at. It showed on her face, and Arthur pulled his gun from its holster. Holding it out to her butt first, he waited for her to take it. The gun was heavier than it looked.

"This is a little too big for your hands. It works for me, since it's pretty common and the ammunition is easy to find. I've got bigger hands, so the trigger distance doesn't bother me. I'll get you something smaller that should be just fine, some backup guns." Arthur closed her hands over the gun. "You'll need to learn how to use this to protect yourself."

"You think they'll come after me," Ariadne said numbly.

"Yes, I think they will. Someone will piece things together and come here. Sooner rather than later, most likely."

"Did you know this would happen when you opened the door for me today?" Ariadne asked, feeling the gun in her hands take on a new meaning. She rubbed the ridges in the grip and stared at the lettering on the side. Glock 17, 9 mm.

"Yes," Arthur said simply.

"And you opened it anyway. Why?"

"I told you. I couldn't let them kill you."

There was something in his voice she couldn't identify, something sharp and painful. It hurt to hear, and Ariadne blinked back tears. "I want them dead," she said, voice breaking. "Every last one of them. Is that horrible of me?"

"No," Arthur said quietly, his hands over hers. "It's very human of you."

Tears spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheeks. "I want them dead. I want to kill them all, make them suffer. I want them _dead."_

Arthur held her close as she sobbed against his chest, the Glock in her lap. "Then we'll do it," he told her, stroking her hair gently. "We'll find them all and kill them."

It should have been chilling or horrifying to hear. Instead, it was the most comforting thing Ariadne had ever heard.

***

Police finally arrived as Ariadne left for school the next day. They asked her questions but she pleaded ignorance, saying she had been out and didn't know anything. No one pressed; it was odd, considering it was painfully obvious that had been her apartment. Maybe these were the police officers on someone else's payroll, maybe they just didn't care. Ariadne heard "Cobol" as the medical examiner put her brother in a body bag, though the name didn't mean much at the time. The police let her go, and she spent her time on the way to school rehearsing what she had planned to say to her guidance counselor.

To her horror, none of the carefully prepared words came out right. Instead came stuttering and the memories of her family's glassy stares, blood coating everything. She sobbed openly once she said her family was dead, and the guidance counselor never once questioned the veracity of her tale. She said she would be moving in with an aunt, and would have to contact the school once she got everything sorted out. It never occurred to her guidance counselor that she might be lying. Ariadne had always been a good student, honest and helpful after school. Everyone had known her brother and mother, and there was no need to question it. Considering how good her grades were, she was given special dispensation to skip the last two months of school. She wouldn't even need to take finals.

She was officially a high school graduate, and in four months she was scheduled to begin at the University of Illinois at Chicago's Architecture school. It was too surreal.

Arthur moved all of their belongings to another safe house and wiped all of the prints. He apparently did that daily as part of his routine. He exercised, he checked that his weapons were loaded, he cleaned out all evidence of himself from the apartment and he went to work. He came back, cooked, ate, cleaned up and cleaned out his weapons, checking them carefully. Then he exercised and went to bed.

She fell into his routine. There was nothing active for him to do during the day at the moment, so he took her to a private shooting range to begin to train her how to shoot. Arthur had her hold onto his Glock the first day he took her to the range. It was too big for her petite hands, but it was large enough for him to discuss how guns worked. "I don't mind how the grip angle is in my hand, though a lot of people don't really like how holding this gun feels," he said, closing her hand around the Glock. "But this is easy to find. The ammunition is common and just as easy to find as the gun, and the magazine capacity is pretty good. I know some people think that if you need more than a magazine of ammo you're fucked anyway, so having more rounds per magazine is a good thing."

Ariadne gave him back the gun when he held his hand out to her. He gave her a different gun that was smaller and fit more easily in her hands. "So which one is this?"

"Bersa Thunder 380 Concealed Carry," Arthur replied. "This is light and small enough for your hands, and could very well be your main weapon. This is easy to conceal and would fit in a pocket holster or shoulder holster easily. It has a fairly easy trigger pull and should still be heavy enough to dampen most of the recoil, so that you don't have to realign every shot. It fires .380 ACP in a seven round magazine, which is pretty easy to find at gun shops. Sometimes you can modify the magazines to get up to ten rounds, which is what I use." He reached for a pair of earplugs and a pair of earmuffs. "Here. While we shoot you need to protect your ears. It's one thing to do without on the street if you have no other choice, but you could damage your hearing without these during practice."

He was pressed up against her back, his hands over hers to position the gun. He had to stoop a bit to meet her level, as he was nine inches taller than her. His breath was warm against her ear, his touch a shock to her system. He edged her feet slightly apart with his, giving her more of a tripod stance. Arthur wrapped his arms around her even after he let go of her hands. They were around her torso, beneath her breasts, and he kept pulling her tight against his body when she wanted to curl up into herself. It was throwing off her stance, and she wanted to turn and run.

Ariadne nearly whimpered when his hands slid across her torso so that one lay across her stomach. He was being professional and impersonal, she told herself; she was the one that was noticing him as something more than a shooting instructor. He moved his hands to her hips to pitch her forward slightly, so that her weight rested more on the balls of her feet than her heels, then nodded at her, his own headgear and glasses in place.

She tried to stay focused on the rules he had laid down for her. She checked the gun to see if it was loaded, and found that the magazine was full and Arthur had chambered a round. He nodded at her approvingly, and she put her finger from the trigger guard onto the trigger itself as she pointed the gun at the target. Only put your finger on the trigger when you're ready to shoot, he'd said. She had to shoot only when she was ready to kill and when she knew where she wanted the bullet to go. Bullets had a way of punching through everything in their path, though at a range there was enough protection behind the paper targets to contain the rounds. Squeeze the trigger, don't pull; pulling led to jerking the gun and ruining the aiming she would have just done.

He her fire at least ten of his modified magazines with the intention to hit the head or heart. She missed most of the shots, but he seemed pleased with her progress. Ariadne was glad she was at least aiming the gun in the right direction, given how distracting his touch was. He then took the gun away and switched it to another. Ariadne removed the headgear to listen to him tell her about the Browning Hi-Power, which could fit thirteen 9 mm parabellum cartridges in one form of the gun or ten .40 S&W cartridges in the other. Arthur had the version that held 9 mm cartridges. The kick took some adjusting to, but she got used to it after a few minutes.

Switching to his usual Glock 17, however, was not something Ariadne could get used to. The grip was too fat for her delicately boned hands and the longer trigger pull was difficult to use effectively. She could still aim, but the maneuver left her feeling as though she was aiming too low in comparison to the other two pistols. Arthur laughed when she finally pulled off the headgear to complain about it. "I told you people hate that gun," he said, a smirk on his lips.

"I don't want to use it."

"You'll still need to know what it feels like, just in case you _have_ to use it. Even if you like the Thunder or the Hi-Power, you still need to know how to use other guns comfortably." He ran his hands down her shoulders to her arms. "This is probably tiring you. We can save the shotguns for another day."

"Shotguns?"

"It doesn't hurt to know how to use those, too. And we could always practice with one of my rifles, too."

Ariadne merely blinked and followed his direction. He was the expert, and she was on a timetable to get her revenge.

At night, Arthur didn't sleep in the bed. He didn't sleep in beds, let alone curled up around a girl. He was on alert at all times, constantly vigilant for threats as he sat in an armchair. Arthur was a hired killer, and trusted no one and nothing. His few friends were also a part of that world, and he received assurances from Yusuf and Eames that they would help take care of her for him if it ever became necessary. He stalked the length and width of the apartment in the dark, checking in on Ariadne once in a while. Sometimes he hovered in the doorway, looking as though he wanted to say something to her. If Ariadne bid him good night, he would react badly, as if she had caught him doing something unsavory.

"You can sleep in the bed," she said quietly one night. "I feel like I'm putting you out."

"Oh, I never sleep in it," he assured her. "It's just for looks." The apartment in her building had been the same way. "In case anyone entered it while I was out." He looked at her over the dining room table. "Now... How do you properly check your weapons?" he asked, pushing a Glock 19, Sig Sauer and a Browning at her. He watched carefully as she took each one, pulled back the slides, opened the magazines and checked to see if a round was chambered. Her grip was good, even if only the Browning seemed to fit comfortably in her hands.

Ariadne looked up at Arthur through her lashes; he seemed more uncomfortable when she stared at him while having decidedly more-than-friendly thoughts about him. It didn't help that he still pressed up tight against her at the range, even if she didn't need him to correct her stance. He seemed to like touching her hair, too, though she couldn't figure that part out.

She was more comfortable with the guns now; several hours daily for two weeks on the range with pistols, rifles and semiautomatics would do that. She had also been working on practicing her draw from different holsters in the evenings. That could be done anywhere, and didn't have to be on a range. It felt weird to have him watch her avidly as she pulled out guns from beneath her shirt.

"I think it's time to take you to work with me," Arthur told her quietly. She started at the words, and he shrugged at her. "You have to start somewhere."

"To work. You mean killing someone," Ariadne said softly. He nodded, his expression neutral even as his eyes tracked her expression. "Do you think I'm ready for that?"

"We won't know until you try," he said, his voice quiet.

"I don't know which is worse," she murmured, eyes fixed on his face, "that I'm honestly considering it or that you offer this with no emotion whatsoever."

"This is a job," Arthur told her. "It's not personal."

"How do you even _get_ this kind of job?"

Arthur shrugged. "I owe people. This is how I have repay the favors. It's what I know."

Ariadne bit her lip and wondered again why he had spared her life. "And me? What am I supposed to do?"

"Your college orientation is in a little over three months." He smiled thinly at her start of surprise, as if he knew she didn't consider how much he knew about her life. "The plan is to have you get revenge before then, and start on time."

"I won't owe you anything for this?" Arthur shook his head. "Why not?"

"If you can get out, you should. Have a normal life, be far away from all of this." Arthur stood abruptly, as if he had said too much.

Ariadne grasped his hand tightly and he reacted as if scalded. "And you? Why can't you have a normal life? What do you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want," he said in a strangled voice. "I can't have it, can't keep it. I can't be normal. I can't have that. There's no use in even wishing for anything."

She embraced him, her head on his chest. His heartbeat was wild and erratic under her ear, his hands at her shoulders firm even though his fingers moved restlessly over her shirt. She wanted to kiss him, to touch him. Was that why he couldn't let her die? Had he hoped for that? Was she what he couldn't let himself want?

He pulled away from her and left without another word. "Why?" Ariadne called out. "Why do you do this if you hate it?"

"They own me," Arthur said from the doorway, not turning around. Ariadne came up behind him and simply held him, her face pressed against his back. For a moment, she thought he leaned into her embrace and let out a content sigh at her touch. She had to be imagining that, though. She had to be reading more into things. "They don't own you. They won't even know about you, so you can escape it. You can go on and have a life of your own. I can't ever have that."

Ariadne stroked his stomach absently. "I'm sorry."

He shifted out of her grasp hastily. "Don't be," he told her shortly. "After you get your revenge," he said, voice hardening, "you'll have options. You'll forget about all of this. You'll forget about me. That's the way it should be."

He stalked off, and this time Ariadne didn't follow him.

***  
***


	2. Reflection Of A Lie

Arthur followed his target closely for several days before even thinking of approaching to make the kill. He told her that the easiest way for them to shadow the target without anyone taking notice of them was to act like lovers. Ariadne was with him every step of the way, their hands tangled together, and she kept forgetting that this wasn't supposed to be real. He pulled her against a wall if the target looked suspicious, his body covering hers and his mouth slanted over her lips as if he was going to devour her whole. Her hands clutched at his chest, pulling him down, her mouth open beneath his to deepen the kiss. And then he would spin away, chest heaving from the effort to breathe. He wouldn't meet her gaze after that, his voice terse even as his hands still sought hers out in the dark.

It was hard not to stare at him longingly as they were pressed up against each other in the dark, when she was practically sitting in his lap with his hand curled around her hip. Sometimes he seemed to enjoy the role too much, his fingers tangling in her hair or coming to rest over her body in a more possessive version of his touch from the gun range. At other times, Arthur couldn't get away from her fast enough. He told her he was trying to teach her how to move in the dark, how to follow someone without being seen. She had to wonder if it was more than that.

"It goes easier if you know their schedule, what patterns of behavior they have. Look at him," he said quietly, pointing at the target through the windshield of his car. "Does he look like he's expecting someone to come after him?"

"He looks around a lot. Like he's scared of his own shadow," Ariadne observed. Though the windows were up, she still spoke in a hushed voice. She still felt like this was surreal, that she couldn't possibly be thinking of killing someone in cold blood.

"That tells us that we're going to have to be even more careful. He might get trigger happy, and the idea is to kill him and get out alive. I did get a warning that he tends to go for knives in close combat, so we'll have to be careful about that, too. Kevlar only goes so far, you know. It can slow down projectiles, but won't do much for stabbing wounds. Plus, that only protects your chest. You can die just as easily of leg wounds if the femoral is pierced."

Ariadne stared at him with large eyes. "How do you do it?" she asked quietly. "How do you just kill someone like it's a job?"

"Because it is." His eyes were empty, soulless pools, and Ariadne suppressed a shiver. That effectively quelled the feeling of closeness she had felt when she first climbed into the car beside him. "This is a job, not personal. This is because his life had been bought and paid for, and it's him or me."

"He's not after you," Ariadne protested.

"If he knew I was here, he wouldn't hesitate to kill me. He's not a good man, Ariadne. He's a drug dealer. He doesn't care who he sells to." His eyes slid sideways to take in her expression. "Kind of like your brother."

Her breath caught in her chest. That had been deliberate, she knew. He otherwise had been very conscientious about his references to her family, as if he cared what she thought about them even if he hadn't known them. "Was he killed because of a hit, then?"

"Obviously not from my circles," Arthur replied, voice sharp. His expression softened a fraction when he noted her frightened one. "I'm looking into it. I've narrowed down who might have been the one to order the hit and buy off the police." He reached over and grasped her chilled hand in his. "Whoever it was, they weren't neat and they didn't care about collateral damage." He rubbed her knuckles gently, almost unconsciously, and Ariadne shifted slightly to lean toward him. Arthur realized what he was doing and abruptly let go of her hand. "Have I ever given you the impression I work the same way?"

Ariadne shifted back to her prior position. "No," she whispered. She looked through the windshield where the target disappeared into a building half covered in shadow. "You're more careful than that."

"This one isn't supposed to be dangerous, but you can never be too careful when there are guns involved. If you can't do it, that's fine. I'll do it. Think of this as practice."

"Did you practice before you started doing this for a living?" she asked, turning back to look at him with large eyes.

"Everyone has to start somewhere," he replied evenly, which wasn't much of an answer at all. She supposed it was all the answer she was going to get.

"That's where he lives," Arthur said after a long pause. "If he's not coming back out, then he's done for the day. Ready?"

"No," Ariadne said softly, shaking her head. The Bersa Thunder suddenly felt heavy and awkward in the pocket holster in her coat. Ready or not, she had to do this if she was going to kill the ones responsible for her family's deaths. "But I'm going to do it anyway."

"That's my girl," Arthur said softly as he turned to exit the car. Ariadne blinked, but he was already gone and his face was an empty mask when she looked at it. There was no indication that he realized what he said or if it meant more than that.

Neither were noticed as they approached the building. He was dressed in unassuming but fairly dark clothing. Ariadne had her usual mismatched clothing, but she had picked the darker of the neutral colors she owned. Arthur wore black leather gloves and hadn't shaved that morning, giving him a gruffer look than he usually had. Ariadne put her hands in her pockets and hoped no one cared why she was wearing a raincoat when it was summer and it wasn't about to rain. She kept her eyes ahead of her, as if she had every right to be walking beside Arthur. He slid an arm around her waist to pull her close, fingers sliding possessively over her hip. No one bothered them as they strode into the building, which looked run down and crumbling in places. This wasn't a particularly good neighborhood, and Ariadne knew that eye contact with anyone was a no-no, as well as anyone making note of them if they weren't being overtly threatening.

Arthur took the stairs immediately, knowing where he had to go. Ariadne leaned into his touch, not caring if she looked utterly besotted with Arthur. She was still alert without being obvious about it, not wanting to be surprised by random strangers that might be the target's friends. She thumbed off the catch to the pocket holster, not entirely sure she could pull this off.

Kneeling to the side of a door, Arthur reluctantly pulled away from her. He took out a lock picking set and began to carefully work the door open. There was no one in the hallway, and Ariadne tried to stand in the way of anyone that might come up the stairs. She couldn't help with this particular task, but she would still protect Arthur however she could.

He was quiet and worked rapidly, and Ariadne flinched at the sound of the tumblers turning over inside of the knob. Looking up, Arthur nodded at the door as he reached for the handle. She didn't even question how well she knew his unspoken communications by now, just as she didn't question how much more she wanted to read into it. Ariadne nodded at him and pulled the Bersa Thunder out of her pocket. It was matte black and easy to hide within the folds of her coat. The barrel was short anyway, so there wasn't much outside of her hand to hide.

Opening the door carefully, Arthur led the way into the apartment and quietly shut it behind them. Ariadne stayed a half step behind him, looking around. There was a short hallway which opened out into a living area ahead of them, with an opening to a kitchen to their left. There were noises from a TV in the living room to their right, and their target was talking on the phone angrily. "I'll get you the fucking money," he was snarling into the phone. Arthur held up his hand to stop her from advancing the length of the short hallway. "Goddammit, tell him to cancel the goddamn job. I'll get you the fucking money. I'm good for it, you know that." There was a frustrated bang as their target kicked something, and he blew out a breath in response to whatever he heard. "I just need you to front me some product, man. I need a little shit to sell, that's all. I'll make it back. I just cut a brick, good as new. It'll be fine." Another kick. _"Fuck,"_ he said, sounding terrified. "I just need time, you know me. I'll do it. I'll get it. I'll you the goddamn money, I just need to... No, I didn't fucking snort it all. Fuck you, man. I know my job. I push the shit that needs selling. I just had some debts to pay, that's all." Their target sniffled. "Fuck you, too."

The phone crashed down into something and Ariadne flinched. It was good thing Arthur had taught her trigger discipline. She might've shot off her foot otherwise.

Arthur advanced, Glock drawn and his finger over the guard. Ariadne lifted her hands and clasped her gun in both hands. She advanced as slowly as Arthur did, matching the cadence of his steps as he rounded the corner. It was easy to mimic; she had fallen into his routine so completely, and his exercises helped keep him limber and light on his feet. Being tiny was an advantage, as she was able to duck under the sweep of his arms and aim true.

"Don't move," Arthur said unnecessarily as their target froze, seeing the two of them standing at the entrance to his living room.

"Fuck. I told him I'd have the money..." their target pleaded. He looked from Arthur to Ariadne. "Please. Ya gotta believe me. I just need more time..."

"Out of time," Arthur said, no inflection in his voice. "On your knees, hands behind your head."

He started reaching into his jacket instead. Ariadne immediately shifted her finger from the trigger guard to the trigger and pulled it. She blinked at the red suddenly blooming on his chest, the loud bang in her ears and the ringing that followed it. He looked down at his chest, gun falling from his hand in shock.

Ariadne only turned to look at Arthur when he fell over, blood pooling around him. His arms and legs were twitching slightly, as if he couldn't quite accept that he was going to bleed to death. She couldn't hear over the ringing in her ears, but she could see Arthur's lips form the words "Finish it."

Three steps, and she was close enough to fire another shot into his head.

Arthur took her gun from her nerveless fingers and reached into her pocket for the holster. He put the gun back into her pocket and inspected the fallen gun. It seemed to meet with his approval, since he took it with him and started guiding her out of the door. They moved quickly but didn't appear to be running, and Arthur kept the rapid pace until they reached his car. Ariadne's breaths had gotten shallow, and Arthur pushed her into the passenger seat then got into his car to drive away.

"I..." Ariadne began with a gasp, hyperventilating. She could barely speak.

"Hold your breath."

She couldn't hold it for more than a few seconds. "Arthur..."

"Hold it again."

He did this a few more times, until it became easier for her to breathe. He held a hand over her knee, a gentle pressure that reminded her that he was there. The nausea seemed to kick in at that point, and she shut her eyes. That didn't help; she could see the blood pooling and the disbelief in the target's eyes when she had fired that second shot. "Oh, God, I'm going to be sick."

"Just breathe. We're almost home. It'll pass."

 _Home._

She saw her mother lying on the floor of her old apartment, arms askew, jaws wrenched open in a silent scream, blood all over her chest from a dozen shots. Her eyes were glazed and empty, long past seeing anything. Her brother's throat had been slit and he had been disemboweled. Everything had spilled out of him in a cascade, and thinking about it now only made Ariadne feel even sicker.

Pressing a hand over her mouth, Ariadne swallowed convulsively. Arthur saw the movement out of the corner of his eye and cursed under his breath. He hastily pulled over and hit the button that unlocked all of the doors. Ariadne shot out of the car and stumbled into an alleyway to throw up. Arthur was behind her a minute later, pulling her hair back and away from her face. "Just breathe, Ariadne," he murmured, rubbing at her back gently with his other hand. He had pulled off his gloves at some point, because she could feel skin at the back of her neck. The contact felt electric, and it jolted her back to the present.

Ariadne looked up at Arthur. "I don't think I can do this."

He pulled a napkin out of his pocket and helped wipe her mouth. His eyes carried a faint edge of sadness, but the rest of his face appeared blank and impassive. "You already did, Ariadne," he said softly. "It's already started. We'll find them, you'll kill them, and then you can move on."

Her lips trembled. Couldn't he understand how hard this was for her? "I can't..."

Arthur closed his hands over hers and she suddenly felt trapped. He had moved her away from the spot where she had thrown up, her back against the wall. He was tall and seemed to cover her entire field of vision. "I'm going to help you. You won't be alone." His touch was warm and alive, and she desperately wanted to hang onto the thin thread of hope he was giving her. He was pressed up against her, eyes intense as they looked at her, and she felt like the center of his universe. "Come home with me."

Weakly, she nodded and allowed him to bundle her back into the car. He kept one hand perched lightly on her knee, his thumb absently rubbing circles into her skin at odd intervals until they got back to his apartment. Arthur did his usual check of the apartment and the sequence of locks and alarms. It was almost comforting for Ariadne, even though she stood there in her raincoat with the Bersa Thunder weighing heavily in her pocket. He took off his jacket and put it aside, then slowly unhooked his shoulder holster. "What do we do as soon as we get back home?" he asked quietly, his hands cupping her face. His thumb dragged over her lower lip, and without thinking about it, she ran her tongue over it, tasting him.

It shocked her out of the numbness. "Oh. Check our guns."

He nodded, lips curling slightly at the edges. The approval warmed her. "Let's start."

She took out the pocket holster and tossed her coat aside. They sat at the table side by side. It was easy not to think, to focus on stripping the guns and checking them. He turned over the pistol he had taken from their target, then handed it to her butt first. "Beretta 1934. You might as well keep it," he said. "Check it."

Ariadne went through the motions, finding a kind of comfort in the simple repetitive actions. It was probably why Arthur had prompted this. She was used to the routine now, comfortable with it, and it was something to fall back on when she felt like her world was shattering.

"I killed someone," she said, looking at the .380 ACP ammunition on the table. She picked up one of the cartridges. "I fired two of these into a human being and _killed him."_

"If you hadn't, I would have." Arthur took the cartridge from her and reloaded a magazine. He handed it back to her full. "Is it easier to tell yourself that he deserved it?"

"No."

Arthur watched her take the magazine and then load it back into the Thunder. "Take care of your weapons, and they'll take care of you. Tomorrow we're going to visit some friends of mine. They've wondered about the vacation I've taken, even though they've been helping me track down the hit on your family. There's going to be more business. More practice."

"I don't know if I can do it."

"Then I will," he said, no inflection in his tone. "But maybe seeing it done will help, like exposure therapy."

"What if someone tries to kill you someday?" she asked, voice tremulous. Why didn't he care more? Why did he allow himself to get so hard and cold? She hadn't known him that long and probably didn't know him that well, but she already couldn't imagine life without him. "What happens then?" _What would I do without you?_ she wanted to ask him.

"No one would miss me," he said sharply, slamming the magazine back into his Glock with a little more force than necessary. Ariadne instantly regretted the question. "Weapons checked, time for the rest of the routine."

Ariadne fell into it, her mind going numb and blank. Maybe that was why he exercised so much. It kept him from having to think.

***

Ariadne wasn't terribly impressed with the dingy basement that Arthur led her to. He had mentioned the names Eames and Yusuf before, and she thought they would have the same leonine grace that he did. Eames was almost as tall as Arthur, with dirty blond hair, blue eyes and a thicker, more muscular build. He moved like he could break through a wall, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that was unsettling when it passed over her. Yusuf was a bit heavyset, with layered vests and sweaters and a pair of glasses on a chain. She supposed that he was more of the brains of the operation, but there was no way for her to tell what he actually did. He seemed a little awkward at first, but then he pulled out a Sig Sauer P239 from beneath his vest easily enough when he heard footsteps he hadn't expected above their heads. Eames had his H&K USP Compact out and ready, and he nodded at Yusuf to go upstairs to check. "What trouble did you bring on us, Arthur?"

"There shouldn't be anything from me," he said, voice terse. "This isn't about protection or arrangements. I'm here to get payment on the last one and get the new job."

Eames didn't look entirely convinced, but he also didn't argue the statement. He went to a wall safe and took out a marked envelope. Arthur shoved it into his pocket without looking at it, and then slung an arm around Ariadne's shoulders. Eames' eyes narrowed slightly, taking it in. He lofted an eyebrow at Arthur, who looked back at him defiantly.

Araidne's eyes swiveled from one man to the other. "What's the new job?" she asked, not able to stand the tension between them.

"She your mouthpiece now?" Eames asked, eyebrow lofted.

Flushing, Ariadne clamped her lips shut. Maybe she had dreams of Arthur's mouth. Maybe she had thoughts of what it might feel like on her skin, of what he might be like if he kissed her or pressed his luck and went even farther. He had been a perfect gentleman despite all the touches and the looks he didn't think she noticed, and she was getting more and more frustrated by it.

"Fuck off, Eames," Arthur said, voice tight. "Is there a job for me or not?"

"For you, darling," he said, sarcasm thick in his tone, "of course there is. For _her,_ no. It would only get her killed, which is beside the point."

Ariadne's eyes went wide with surprise, and Arthur looked ready to snarl at him as his arm dropped from her shoulders. "What the fuck are you talking about, Eames? You said you'd help me keep her safe."

"Fuckers that killed her asshole brother want her dead, too."

She managed to stay on her feet, and she thought idly of protesting that her brother hadn't been an asshole. Only, he really had been. Maybe Eames had known him?

"The hit was put out for her entire family. Rather like salting the earth," Eames began, taking in Ariadne's pale face and tremulous lips. "Sit down before you fall over, sweetheart."

"Thank you," she murmured as Arthur guided her into the proffered chair. His fingers remained lightly on her shoulder, thumb kneading the bared skin above the collar of her shirt. She leaned slightly into his touch, ignoring Eames' pointed stare at Arthur.

"Oh, yes, I see how very detached you are," he snorted, ignoring the glare he got in return. He looked up as Yusuf came back downstairs into the basement, his Sig Sauer tucked back beneath his vest. "Well?"

"Had to dispense with some merchandise," he said, shrugging a bit. "Nothing to do with our charge here," he said, nodding at Ariadne. He turned to look at her, not unkindly. "The job just came across the wire an hour ago, I kid you not." He moved around the basement, looking at the different boxes with an assessing glance. "We'll need to equip her, of course."

"I did that already," Arthur replied evenly.

"Oh. Of course. What did you choose?"

"I'm using a Bersa Thunder," Ariadne said, not liking how they were all talking about her as if she wasn't there. Yusuf nodded and Eames shrugged. "What?"

"Good gun, small enough to hide and still fit your hands," Yusuf replied. He was definitely the more soft-spoken of the two, and deceptively calm.

Eames was sprawled across a chair next to a table, his USP Compact beside him. "Point is, there's now a hit on your girlfriend, Arthur. It's outside of Fischer's organization, so we can probably still take care of it without him knowing."

"She's not my girlfriend," Arthur replied stiffly.

"So you touch all the girls that live with you twenty-four seven that way?" At Eames' meaningful glance at his fingers snaking around her neck, Arthur blew out a breath and started shifting his weight away from Ariadne. He reluctantly took his hand away from her and couldn't quite meet Eames' eyes.

"Shut up, Eames," Arthur hissed. "She's not my girlfriend," he repeated. Ariadne didn't know if she should be insulted or not.

Eames smiled and held his hands up in a mockingly placating manner. "My mistake. Regardless, it's easier since it's not one of Fischer's lot."

"So who put out the hit?"

"Cobol," Yusuf replied, coming back to the table with a box full of .380 ACP ammunition. "He's the one that paid off the police as well. Her name is officially erased from all paperwork surrounding the murders. Legally speaking, there's no way to track her to it any longer. As far as I can tell, this means that Cobol is planning something messy for her and doesn't feel like getting the rest of the police department in his pocket." He looked from Ariadne's pale face to Arthur's determined one. "How much are you going to need, Arthur?"

"I'll take the box. I've been taking her to the range. Now she needs some practical experience."

"Oh, is that why the bloke yesterday was messier than your usual kills?" Eames asked, eyebrow lofted. "I had to confirm the kill. Fischer the elder wanted to be sure he could use the bloke as an example. I didn't mention that there were two shots and blood everywhere."

"I shot him," Ariadne offered. "Um... I hadn't killed anyone before," she murmured when Eames swung his eyes toward her.

"Well, then. I am suitably impressed. Very good for a novice," he replied, an assessing gaze in his eyes. "In that case, Arthur, I suggest we split the caseload that's going to come your way as soon as you announce you're back from vacation. I can take the tougher kills, you stick with the babysitting jobs until she can handle it."

"You're assuming I didn't handle it the first time," Ariadne said in an affronted tone. She hadn't, but hearing that people wanted her dead was putting this entire project into perspective. She couldn't afford to let them think she was too weak. She didn't have anything to offer them as payment and they didn't owe her anything. If she was too much trouble, they could very well just take the payment and kill her.

Eames snorted. "Darling, your hands are shaking. Those two shots looked quite different. My guess is, you panicked for the chest shot and the head shot was more deliberate aim." He smirked at her startled gaze. "Oh, it pays to understand the forensics and body language in our line of work. After all, there's always competition for wet work. The buggers out there think it's an easy thing to simply pull the trigger and walk away. It takes a fair amount of skill to pull it off consistently and not get caught."

"Is she going to do hand to hand training?" Yusuf asked, looking at Arthur. Everyone looked at Yusuf. "Knowing how to shoot is one thing. If they find her and get her away from the Thunder, she's up shit creek."

Arthur blew out a pained breath. "I hadn't thought of that. I figured we would just eliminate whoever killed her family and then she could be free to live out her life."

Yusuf shook his head. "Trust me, it's going to get complicated. The price for her is double the price for her brother. I assume they think she's a material witness and would go to the police. Even though they won't talk to her or protect her now, Cobol isn't willing to take chances with his organization."

"Fuck. Cobol has half the police department in his pocket," Arthur groused.

"Precisely. Your pet project just might get us all killed."

Ariadne looked at all of them, dread in her belly. Without realizing it, she grasped Arthur's hand tightly for support. He squeezed it slightly, his weight shifting back toward her. "What if I just left the city?"

"Police won't care, but Cobol still will. They know where you're supposed to go to school," Yusuf said, shaking his head. "It's entirely too public. And Chicago has its own system over there, so it would be easy enough for Cobol to contact someone there and transfer the job."

If she hadn't already been sitting, Ariadne might have fallen. "Oh."

"It's going to have to be a surgical strike," Eames said, voice a little more gentle than his initial harsh tones. Perhaps he had thought she had done this deliberately? Or that she had forced Arthur to do this? Maybe he hadn't believed that Arthur volunteered to help out of his own good will.

"We'll have to take Cobol down from the inside out," Arthur murmured. He glanced at Ariadne and nearly reached to touch her shoulder. "Fischer might like that."

"Not your girlfriend my arse," Eames muttered, making Arthur withdraw his hand.

"The elder, you mean," Yusuf said, ignoring the byplay. "Young Fischer is more interested in their legit fronts," Yusuf remarked. "Fischer the elder made his displeasure known at the last organizational meeting he held."

"You went?" Arthur asked in surprise.

"I had to hand over his cut of the profits," Yusuf replied. His voice was calm, but held a thread of temper in it. "And sit through all this bullshit that didn't apply to me and would only complicate matters. He's a bastard, and is taking his anger with his son out on the lot of us." His British accent thickened with his anger. "So there's a line I won't cross, Arthur, not even for you."

"I'm sorry I'm putting you in this position," Arthur replied softly.

"Perhaps you did not see," Yusuf said, shaking his head. He leaned against one of the support beams in the basement, the bare overhead bulbs making him look more tired than angry. "I know you would not deliberately put us in danger. I am still willing to help you. But you have to know there are limits. I don't go into the field. That has to remain true."

"I wouldn't ask it of you," Arthur said.

"You'd ask it of me," Eames pointed out.

"You don't mind the killing," Arthur replied.

His smile was sharp and full of teeth, reminding Ariadne of a shark. "Well, let's just say I enjoy creative negotiations." He cracked his knuckles. "And Cobol's men have always annoyed the ever-loving shit out of me, so eliminating a few of them sounds like a good time."

Ariadne shivered. They were casually talking about killing a lot of men. She should have been upset about that, as she had been taught to believe that all life was precious. But they were talking about the same men that had ordered family killed and wanted her dead now.

Arthur was right. It was kill or be killed, and she would rather have them dead than her.

"What do I need to learn to help?" she asked abruptly, before she lost her nerve. "How do I do this so no one in this room dies?"

Eames and Yusuf looked at her approvingly. "I see why you're invested," Eames murmured, a smirk on his lips. "I fully approve."

"I don't need your approval," Arthur snapped. "I just need your help to keep her alive."

Eames crossed his arms over his chest. "Knowing you, you focused only guns and the draw." Arthur nodded. "Any hand to hand?" Arthur shook his head. "Yusuf's right. She's going to have to know self defense in case her guns get taken. I wouldn't say knife work, since that takes time to get really skilled. You gave us a timetable, Arthur. We've got to move fast."

"I'm not going to school anymore," Ariadne said, drawing their assessing gazes toward her again. "They let me graduate."

"Well, then. I think it's about time you attended a different sort of school," Eames said. "Arthur's good with the guns, I'll give him that. One of the best we've got, not that I'm any slouch either. He can handle himself in a fight, but he's too structured. You're going to have to fight dirty since you're so small. They're going to underestimate you because of that, so that's what we have to work with."

"When do I start?" Ariadne asked, taking in Arthur's unhappy glower.

Eames got up. "Now."

He demonstrated with Arthur first, and she could see what he meant by Arthur being structured. Eames had more fluid motion in his limbs, as if he was more of a dancer than a fighter, though his fists were large and heavy-looking. Arthur was graceful, with very precise movements that seemed to be choreographed. Ariadne wouldn't be able to mimic Arthur's style, but she could possibly incorporate Eames' movements. Her mind wandered a bit when she saw them shift and turn, and Arthur leaned backward to duck a punch from Eames. It exposed the smooth column of his throat, showed off how limber he really was, and made Ariadne wonder what his skin would taste like on her tongue, and if he would make noises while he kissed the way her mother's boyfriend used to.

"You're not going to be able to do most of that," Eames said when they finished. "But I think you get the idea what we're talking about."

"Would it be a good idea to have a knife anyway?" Ariadne asked. "It looked like Arthur could've gutted you a few times if he had a knife."

The two men looked at each other and Yusuf chuckled. "Well, then," Yusuf said, getting up from his seat. "Let me look for some nicely balanced knives. Ankle sheath, I'm thinking."

Arthur sighed, but nodded. Ariadne wondered what she was getting herself into, but kept silent. It was one thing to be upset about killing a man she didn't know when she thought she might able to stop this plan. It was another thing to know for sure that someone wanted her dead and was willing to pay money for it. She rather liked being alive, and rather liked being near Arthur. He ran hot and cold around her, which confused her to no end, but maybe something would change when Cobol and his men were gone. She had to hold onto that hope.

Eames used Arthur as his model to point out all the sensitive areas in the body that Ariadne had to focus on. He was stressing the dirty tactics he favored and the ones that he thought would work best with her height. Most of them were groin shots or kicking at knees sideways to dislocate the kneecap. "A woman's strength is in the legs, after all," he said loftily, pushing Arthur to the floor. He grinned at Arthur's dirty look. "Just showing her how it's done."

Ariadne could have done without the competitive rivalry between the men, but it did let her see Arthur in a new light. He wasn't just reserved with her. He was reserved with everyone, even these two men that he trusted with his life and counted as friends. She didn't know if it had anything to do with Fischer "owning" him and making him kill for a living, or if it was his own natural reticence to get close to people. Eames watched her critically as she practiced on Arthur, shifting her arms and legs if he had to. It reminded her of the yoga class she had tried once at the Y, only without the creepy instructor groping her whenever he could. He was being professional about it, though Arthur's eyes blazed and snapped every time Eames touched her. She hoped that meant he was jealous, but she wasn't about to ask him. There was no telling what he would say, and she had the feeling that he would never act on it anyway. He had it fixed in his head that she was going to Chicago, and that was exactly what would happen. He didn't count himself as part of her future, which was disappointing.

She hadn't known him long, but she wanted him in her future, no matter where she wound up.

Yusuf had found three different knives that would work in an ankle holster inside her boot. They had her practice with a plastic knife, and Eames merely scoffed at her protests that it wouldn't help her train. "Don't be surprised at how effective plastic can be in taking off skin, Ariadne. Anything can be a weapon if you put your mind to it. Just remember that."

Gulping, she nodded and started to mimic the movements he showed her. It was harder than it looked, though Eames was obviously also taking it easy on her when he disarmed her. "It's a question of practice," he told her encouragingly. "I don't expect you to pick this up right away."

"But I need to learn this quickly. Otherwise, I'm dead." Her shoulders sagged when he didn't disagree. "So I need to practice every night. Like with the guns."

"Oh, is _that_ you do at night?" he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice.

"Shut the fuck up," Arthur snarled at Eames, rolling to his feet.

"Another job," Yusuf interrupted smoothly, handing over a printed sheet of paper. He had been in and out of the basement during their training that day, and Ariadne could only assume that there was a computer and printer upstairs. "Shouldn't be difficult for someone of your caliber, even with a shadow in training."

Arthur nodded at him as he took the sheet. "Thank you for the supplies, Yusuf."

"I'll take the cost out of tonight's pay," he responded with a shrug. "At our usual discount, of course."

Arthur smiled thinly and gestured for Ariadne to follow. She did, half waving at the two men behind her. They waved back more enthusiastically, and she wondered if today was perhaps a test. If so, she must have passed.

"They like you," Arthur said in his car. His tone was regretful, and she wondered why. It must have shown on her face, because he sighed and grasped her hand tightly in his. "This isn't the life I want for you. I want this to be _done,_ and you packed up to go to Chicago. You need your own life back. You need to be safe."

"I'll only be safe if Cobol is dead."

"Yeah," he sighed, putting the car into gar. Neither said anything more as they drove to the assigned hit.

 _They're your friends and you don't even trust them,_ she wanted to say. _Why do you trust me?_ The words stuck in her throat, however, and she put her hand in her lap. She was wearing an oversize shirt, which hid the shoulder holster with the Beretta she had on over a cami. There was the Bersa Thunder in its pocket holster tucked inside the front of her jeans, which had always been too large for her anyway. Now she had a knife holster in each boot. If the weather was cooler and she could wear longer sleeves or a jacket, Yusuf would have found her wrist holsters. She was feeling as though she was a walking armory, though in Arthur's line of work that had to be a good thing.

"Just be careful," he said quietly as he parked. He opened his mouth, then shut it as if he couldn't figure out what he wanted to say. "Remember the training," he said finally, sounding for all the world as if he would rather say something else.

They moved quietly into the building. Her boots had low heels, but they were old and worn so they didn't make much noise. Arthur's shoes were dark enough to look like dress shoes, but she knew they were boots. His clothes were well made but somewhat drab looking at first glance, the better to blend into the background. This job was less a message and more a question of expediency; Arthur had his gun out in the hallway and kicked the door open. Startled, Ariadne pulled the Thunder from her pants and put her finger on the trigger as she followed Arthur inside. There was no way his entrance went unnoticed, and she didn't want to lose precious time trying to get the Beretta. She was okay in a cross draw under normal circumstances, but the shoulder holster was beneath her shirt. It would make her lose precious seconds to pull the gun out from beneath the shirt.

She wished she had Kevlar when she saw the three men in the apartment. Arthur started firing as he walked forward, and Ariadne rushed to his side. He started moving left to right, so she started firing right to left. She fired all seven shots and dropped to one knee to avoid the men firing back. She was short, so she would be well below the line of fire. Arthur used a standard seventeen cartridge magazine, and he pressed himself against the wall when he was done with his shots. He hadn't used all of his ammunition, but he didn't need to.

The three men were very, very dead. The one Ariadne had started shooting on the right hadn't even been able to reach for his weapon, which had been on the coffee table. She had hit him three times in the chest, the one in the middle twice in the chest and the one on the left once in the gut. She didn't know where her seventh cartridge had gone, and could only hope that it didn't burrow through the wall to kill anyone else.

"Let's get out of here," she said shakily.

"One second," he murmured, pulling her against his chest when she moved past him. "The job is to clear the apartment. There might be more," he said in a low tone. Ariadne nodded as he gave her the briefest of hugs and put the Thunder away. She had enough time to draw the Beretta and follow Arthur into the apartment. No one else was there, and she wasn't terribly interested in going through their possessions. "We can go now," Arthur said quietly when they were done inspecting the house.

"Is someone going to care that we did this?" she asked, still feeling shaky. She had just killed someone. Maybe two someones. She definitely didn't kill the one on the left.

"It's not that kind of a place. Come on, let's go."

She didn't argue with him. She didn't throw up on the way back to his apartment, and without prompting started to check her weapons. Reloading the magazine with the proper ammunition, Ariadne wondered what it meant. She hadn't asked what they had done to deserve being killed, and didn't want to know. Arthur sat beside her in silence as he stripped and checked his weapon, then built it back up. Sighing softly, Ariadne leaned against him and put her head against his shoulder. Breathing deeply, she could smell the scent of him as well as the gun oil. It was comforting, though she couldn't have explained why.

Arthur let out a soft breath that wasn't quite a sigh and put his arm around her shoulders after a moment. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and she could feel his eyelashes flutter in her hair. It was a quiet, gentle moment, one of the ones that made her think that perhaps there was more here than a misguided sense of obligation. Ariadne slid an arm around his waist, burrowing closer into his warmth, and he stroked her arm. "We're all right," he whispered against her hair, knowing just what she needed to hear at that moment. "We're okay. We're together, Ariadne. I've got you." She let her eyes fall shut and she simply sat there, breathing him in and feeling safe.

It didn't matter why this didn't bother her. She was still alive, and she planned to stay that way.

***  
***


	3. Illusions Of The Sunlight

Picking off Cobol's men one by one turned out to be much trickier than they had originally thought. This was partly due to the fact that they were hard to find in the city, and partly due to Maurice Fischer making overtures to merge his business with Cobol's. Yusuf said it was Maurice's senility showing; Ariadne gathered that meant Maurice was Fischer the Elder. That made Robert the younger Fischer, and Yusuf felt he was a more level headed business manager than his father. He was still ruthless and cunning, but he didn't go out of his way to be an utter bastard that left everyone quaking in their boots.

Eames hated them both. Ariadne wondered how they all came to be employed by the Fischers, but felt it would be safer if she left those stories untouched. Arthur's eyes held rage when he had to think of what he owed the Fischers. Eames had an air of quiet and subtle menace around him at times, and she didn't want that directed at her. Yusuf had an even subtler manner, so she had no doubt that it meant he would kill someone in their sleep or simply overdose them with something until they never woke up again.

Ariadne practiced her skills on Cobol flunkies. It felt awkward to be involved in a drive by shooting, but it worked. She wasn't queasy and her aim was improving. She was more comfortable in dark alleys and creeping along tenement hallways. She tried telling herself that these were useful life skills; she would be moving to Chicago in a little over two months, and that was a big city with its own underworld. It would be useful to know how to defend herself. She wouldn't have to worry about being a petite teenager in the middle of a big city. It bothered her that she was changing this much because of revenge, that she was justifying murder. If she thought too closely about what she was doing, she hesitated and faltered. Then Arthur looked at her as if she was being childish.

Maybe that was the problem with Arthur. Maybe he saw her as a child. Maybe he figured she was only grateful to him for saving her life and giving her the opportunity to have revenge. That wasn't what this was, but maybe he thought it was.

"Come to bed," she said softly, standing in the doorway of the bedroom. She was in a thin cami that hid absolutely nothing and shorts that resembled boxers. The outfit made her legs look that much longer, and her small breasts were showcased. Ariadne felt almost stupid for how she was dressed when she saw his tight expression. What if she was wrong?

"I don't sleep," he said, shaking his head stubbornly. "You need to go to sleep."

"Even you need to sleep sometime."

"Not when it's dangerous. Not when we're killing Cobol's street thugs and still working for Fischer. Not when you have less than two months to get to the ones that ordered your death."

Ariadne stepped forward, taking in his sprawled position on the armchair. He had his Glock in his lap, and his seat was angled to take in the front door and the windows along the wall as well as the bedroom doorway on his left. She deliberately stepped into his field of vision. "Arthur. I'm not a child."

"I know," he said, studiously not looking at her. He was holding the Glock with a white knuckled grip and his jaw was tense. "Believe me, Ariadne, I know."

"Just sleep," she blurted. "You need to come to bed to sleep. Not for anything else. If you don't want to, I mean," she added hastily, feeling a blush stain her cheeks. God, she was so awkward at this. It was hard to be fearless when she was barely wearing anything and he wouldn't look at her.

"Go to sleep, Ariadne. We'll deal with this in the morning."

"Deal with what?" she cried finally, flustered. She waved her arms around the empty apartment. "There's nothing here." She pointed between the two of them. "I don't know if there's anything _here,_ or if it's just me. We do nothing but kill and train and exercise and do it all again. You don't even sleep!"

"People get sloppy when they're tired or distracted," he said, still looking at anything but her. "I've been sloppy enough already," he muttered.

She touched his cheek gently with her fingertips, and whispered "Arthur. Please."

"You need to go to bed."

"I won't be able to sleep if I know you're out here miserable."

"Go to bed, Ariadne."

"Arthur. You need rest, too."

"I nap when I need to."

She wanted to argue with him, and saw a vein tick in the side of his forehead. "Then fine, don't sleep. But can you at least stay with me? Sit next to me so I know you're there?"

Arthur's eyes finally snapped to her plaintive expression. There was pain there, something she hadn't noticed earlier. "You don't know what you're asking. When the rush is over and you have time to think, you'll regret all of this. Just go to sleep."

"I don't want you hurt because of me." She hunkered down beside the chair and looked at him with large eyes. "You can leave once I'm asleep, okay? I just need to know you're all right. I need to know this is going to get better."

"Ariadne..."

"Please," she whispered, grasping his hand and pulling gently. Reluctantly, Arthur stood and let her lead him into the bedroom he had never used. She clambered up onto the bed and gestured for him to join her. There was only a thin sheet and clothing between them, and Ariadne could tell by his rigid posture that he didn't want to look at the curves of her body through the sheet. He sat awkwardly against the headboard at first, looking anywhere but at her. She curled up on her side and looked up at him, her hand resting on his thigh. "Thank you."

"Good night, Ariadne," he murmured, slowly allowing a hand to rest on the top of her head. He stroked her hair, a soothing gesture, and he seemed to relax a bit.

"Good night, Arthur," she answered, yawning a little. She shifted position so that she was resting her forehead against his thigh, her hand high enough that she could touch his groin without straining her hand. Arthur made a soft strangled sound, but his hand moved down along her back, tracing her spine. It was a light, delicate touch, repetitive and soothing.

Her eyes closed, and she found it much easier to sleep knowing that he was next to her. If Cobol's men crashed through the window, he would have his Glock trained and ready in an instant. Her Bersa Thunder was beneath the pillow, and the Beretta was beneath the mattress. They were as prepared as they probably needed to be, and Arthur's presence was just the thing she needed to fall deeply asleep.

She woke to the sound of shattering glass and a startled shout beside her from Arthur. Her eyes snapped open and she looked around in a blind panic. Arthur stumbled from the bed, Glock in hand and his arm extended as he ran into the living room. It didn't make sense. Why hadn't he gone back out to his armchair? Had he fallen asleep beside her?

Ariadne yanked the Bersa Thunder from beneath the pillow and disengaged the safety as she rolled off of the bed. There was shooting in the living room, and she needed to be out there. She yanked the Beretta out from beneath the mattress with her left hand and ran to the doorway. Arthur was in a crouch on one side of the doorway, shooting into the living room. It looked as though there were six people left in there, and it didn't make any sense. Why weren't there neat little holes in the middle of their heads?

There was no time to think, really. She shot, taking as little time to aim as she dared. She aimed for chests; she wasn't good enough for a head shot at this point. She couldn't do a double tap the way Arthur could and didn't try. Just getting her shots clustered close together was an accomplishment. Besides, three shots to the chest with .380 ACP made sure that the target was dead just as well as a head shot did.

It seemed to take longer than it should have to clear the room. "Are there more coming?" Ariadne asked, looking at Arthur with wide eyes.

He seemed shaken, and she couldn't understand why. He was the seasoned killer, yet the nine men lying in pools of blood on his living room floor seemed to shock him. "I don't know," he murmured, eyes fixed on a point in the middle of the room. Ariadne followed his line of vision, expecting to see something there. Maybe a photograph of her, maybe a plain sheet of paper like the ones that Arthur received from Yusuf with job parameters on it.

But there was nothing.

"Arthur." Ariadne reached across the doorway and shook his shoulder when he didn't move. _"Arthur._ They know we're here. We have to go now, before they figure out that they've failed to kill us."

Something shifted in his eyes, and the numbness faded from his expression. Ariadne managed not to say "Thank God!" aloud, but she certainly felt relief at the sight of his usual mask falling back into place.

"Pack your things. Essentials. Weapons. I know where we need to go next."

Her entire life had been two bags before. As much as it hurt, she left her school things behind. Arthur sent Eames a text to have him pick them up if Cobol's men didn't bother to take them, just so she could eventually have something to bring with her to Chicago. Ariadne's backpack now held ammunition and whatever guns weren't strapped to her body. She looked at Arthur's hollow eyes and didn't comment on the state of her life. She had asked for this, and it would be the only way she would ever be able to restart the life she had planned to lead.

She scurried to do exactly as he said, aware of his eyes tracking her every movement. It didn't matter that she was in her sleepwear. She felt naked beneath his gaze, and she couldn't read his expression anymore. Ariadne wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Ariadne waited until they were in another of Arthur's safe houses. "What happened, Arthur?"

"They got the drop on us, obviously," he all but snarled at her, not meeting her eyes. He had a duffel bag full of pistols and rifles with him, and he carefully put it on the table in the middle of the room. This was another bare apartment in a sleazy tenement not unlike the one she grew up in. It was just as empty and lifeless looking as the one they had just left.

"But how? You don't sleep, you said. How could they have possibly..." She trailed off when he flinched at her words. "What? What happened? You stayed with me until I fell asleep and then went back out to your chair, didn't you?"

"I fell asleep," Arthur said, a trace of loathing in his voice. He spun around and grabbed her arms in a viselike grip. "I got too comfortable and I fucking fell asleep and we almost died. Do you understand now? Do you understand how dangerous this game is now?"

"I didn't think this was a game," Ariadne choked, seeing the anger in his eyes. For a fraction of a second she was almost scared of him, that the anger was for her. His words finally sank in as he let her go, however, and she realized who the anger was really for. "You still saved me, Arthur. This isn't for nothing."

"You're a kid," he said, shaking his head. "You don't even know to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you, Arthur," Ariadne said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He backed off as if scalded, looking at her almost in horror. "You've been good to me, teaching me what I need to know to survive this." She closed the gap between them and put both her hands on his chest. "I love you, Arthur."

"You don't," he ground out through grit teeth. "You're still a kid. You don't know what this life takes. You don't even know what you want." He stalked off toward the bathroom, knowing she wouldn't follow him there. "When this is over, you'll have your life back and you'll get over this. You'll forget I even existed."

Ariadne flinched as the bathroom door slammed shut. "I won't," she whispered in the empty room. "I promise."

***

"Well, you have some very brassed off folk after you," Eames said as Arthur marched down into the basement, Ariadne in tow. "Cobol's upped the price on her head, by the way." He looked down the barrel of a gun that he was cleaning and then looked up at Arthur as he put it down. "You're going to have to clean them out quick if you don't want either Fischer or Browning knowing about it."

"Who's Browning?" Ariadne asked, interrupting what would have been a testy retort from Arthur.

"Fischer the elder's second in command. He has more power than Fischer the younger, actually," Eames replied, looking over the field stripped gun on the table. "None particularly like Cobol, so I suspect they're waiting to see how this plays out."

"So we need to step up the timetable," Arthur replied, taking a manila envelope out of the messenger bag he was carrying. He tossed it to Eames, a scowl etched across his features. "That was too close a call the other day."

"Whatever happened with that, anyway?" Eames asked, frowning as he held the envelope. Ariadne recognized that it was full of cash. "You plan for shite like that. How could they have gotten the drop on you?"

Arthur's scowl deepened, and for a moment Ariadne was afraid that he would draw the Glock from its hiding place. He visibly had to force himself to relax. "Doesn't matter. They're dead and we're not. Cobol likely has a deal going down soon, so we need to be there and wipe them out."

Eames sighed. "Arthur..."

"She's got less than two months left. Don't tell me there's time to do this."

He scrubbed at his jaw tiredly. "You're talking a coordinated strike..."

"I'm talking about _obliterating_ them. Incendiary bombs would suffice," Arthur retorted in a clipped voice.

"All right. I know Yusuf was talking to that arms dealer about some new shit coming in soon. He can get you a few things, and I can always cobble together something homemade if you absolutely can't wait."

Arthur let out a breath. "Yusuf might have the deal closed soon, right?"

"Yeah. Tomorrow or the day after, most likely. He has some pretty cut rate prices for it all." Eames eyed Arthur and Ariadne almost warily. "Do you need me with you, mate? You can't go into Cobol territory on your own. You're going to need a little help."

"You're neutral with them," he replied, shaking his head. "You come in on this, and you lose the neutrality in their territory. Besides, we can stick to the shadows better if it's just us."

Eames didn't look happy about that, but nodded. "I'll tell Yusuf to give you a call when he comes back from the docks. He should have word on when you can expect the new toys."

"Thanks."

"Hey, Arthur," Eames called out as they climbed the stairs again. Arthur paused to look at him. "Don't forget why you're doing this, eh? Slow down if you need to."

"Believe me, Eames. I've forgotten _nothing."_

"You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?" Ariadne asked as they walked back to Arthur's car. She didn't see anyone around, but that didn't mean much in the grand scheme of things. A sniper with a good enough scope would be able to see her from half a kilometer away.

"We're going to get the job done," he said in even tones. He opened the door for her and quickly shut it when she sat down. He still didn't meet her eyes when he started the car. "You're going to be fine, Ariadne. We'll make sure of that."

"And what about you? Are you going to be fine when this is over?"

"I'll feel better when you're in Chicago attending school," he replied curtly. His eyes flashed when he looked at her. "Don't romanticize things," he added, his tone cutting.

Ariadne sucked in her breath and turned away. "Of course not," she said, feeling hollow. "No reason to, right?"

"Exactly," he said with a nod, pulling out of his parking space. "Glad you understand it."

She understood, but she didn't have to like it.

***

The meeting between Cobol and some of his men was supposed to take place in the warehouse district that week. Yusuf had indeed gotten incendiary grenades, as well as hollow point cartridges for their guns. He gave Arthur a knowing glance when he pushed over the equipment. "I know you," he had said softly. "Be careful."

Ariadne hadn't gotten a chance to ask what he had meant by that comment. Arthur seemed even more irritable and keyed up than before, and she wasn't willing to upset the fragile balance between them. She kept out of his way and simply checked the magazines for all of the guns over and over, making sure the proper caliber cartridges were where they were supposed to be. She wasn't as familiar with the shotguns, but she checked those too. When unable to check anything else, she did sit ups or push ups, anything to keep herself busy and not under Arthur's gimlet stare. She wanted to tell him that she would be safe, that she trusted him. She wanted to be able to wrap her arms around him and hug him, to tell him that she loved him. It had nothing to do with this quest for revenge and everything to do with how he was with her when he wasn't trying to push her away.

Arthur dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket over a T shirt. It was hot as hell, but hid the two shoulder rigs beneath it. One held his Glock for a right hand draw, and the other holster carried the back up magazines. He had another gun in his jacket and a bag with the rifles, grenades and more ammunition. She was dressed head to toe in black, her hair tied tightly at the nape of her neck. She carried her two guns, a loose black shirt covering her holster. The knives were in her boots, just in case. To be perfectly honest, she thought that if she had to reach for the knives, odds were that she was as good as dead. She was a much better shot than knife wielder, not that it meant very much.

Arthur shot the guard at the back door of the warehouse the meeting was taking place in. The suppressor muffled most of the noise, and the guard pitched forward into the alley. They propped him up against the wall in the deeper shadows, so that no one would look too closely if they expected someone to be there. They crept into the warehouse slowly, careful not to make any noise. There were voices inside, and a fist banging onto a table. The rise and fall of voices helped to mask their entry. Arthur pointed off to the side, indicating that they would each circle around to attack from different directions. Ariadne nodded and moved as quietly as she could.

Before she could even get into position across from Arthur, he let out a shot. Even with the suppressor in place, the shot sounded loud. Ariadne whirled around when the shouting began, and she could see the perfect hole in the center of Cobol's forehead.

She squeezed off a few more shots, taking care to aim. Half of an underling's skull exploded from the hollow point cartridge, and she swallowed her gorge at the sight. It was one thing for there to be blood. It was another to see thick chunks fly off of someone's head.

Ariadne noticed something arcing into the meeting space, and two seconds later it exploded in a flash of white-hot light. The stream of materials within the incendiary grenade fell across the table, igniting it. Other flashes went off around the meeting space, and the stacked boxes along the warehouse walls went up in flames. Cobol's men ran, some not even bothering to look for whoever was attacking. Some didn't even go for their guns. The ones hit with fallout from the incendiary grenades began screaming; the thermate reaction produced temperatures over two thousand degrees Centigrade, which would cause such severe burn injuries that Ariadne doubted they would survive the night. She shot into the crowds, biting her lip to distract herself from the sight of blood or bits of bone flying out of wounds. She had six magazines with her for the Bersa Thunder and six for the Beretta. Arthur had the shotguns in his bag, as she wasn't completely comfortable with them.

Arthur was nowhere to be seen. The items stored in the boxes along the walls were throwing off thick, black smoke and ash, making it difficult to see around the shelving and stacked boxes that were not burning. She picked off the Cobol goons running in her direction, as it was one of the few areas clear of smoke and ash. She tried telling herself it was like a video game, if she had ever done one of those hunting games her brother liked.

Her brother. Ariadne jerked her finger on the trigger as she thought of her brother's body when she had found him, and her shot went wide. There were enough people milling about that someone fell, but the man she was aiming for was still coming toward her. She squeezed off another round, catching him in the chest. The bullet went through him and into the man pushing him ahead, making them both stumble. It tripped up the other two men behind him, and Ariadne shot into the mound of flailing arms and legs. It was easier not to think, easier to tell herself that this wasn't real. It was a dream. This was all a nasty dream, and when she woke up, she would be in the ratty apartment with her brother and mother again. She never would have met Arthur, never would have learned about his real job, never would have learned to shoot guns.

She never would have fallen in love with him.

Tears fell unheeded. There wasn't anyone else moving in the warehouse now, and the fire was spreading quickly. Ariadne could feel the hot air whip against her face as something exploded on the far side of the warehouse. She could only assume that there were weapons stored there; incendiary grenades were built to take out firearms and weapons caches in a relatively safe manner.

"Arthur!" she screamed, starting to move toward the area she had seen him last. "Arthur! Where are you?"

Black smoke billowed outward from the narrow space between boxes. Ariadne began to cough, and she pulled her shirt up over her mouth and nose to prevent herself from inhaling too much ash and smoke. She ducked down beneath the cloud coming toward her and tried to push forward. She had to get to Arthur. "Arthur!" she screeched, panic setting in. Why wasn't he answering? Was he hurt?

Her eyes stung from the smoke, and she could still smell the acrid scent of plastic and metal burning. She could feel the crisp, hot air in her lungs, and her eyes watered enough that it was hard to see. She could barely make out boxes shoved aside, out of the neat rows they had been in when she arrived. There were legs in front of her, but the smoke was starting to thicken enough that she couldn't make out too many details. Despite her shirt over her mouth, she was starting to cough. It was difficult to breathe, and nothing was moving in the warehouse. Either he got out already, or he was one of the unmoving lumps on the floor.

No, she refused to think about that.

Ariadne couldn't move the body in front of her, though there was a duffel bag next to him. She pulled it toward her with shaking fingers and saw Arthur's rifle and shotgun inside, as well as two remaining incendiary grenades and a few magazines for his Glock.

Her mind stuttered to a stop. The heat was getting worse and the smoke was thickening. There was only a narrow corridor of fresh air behind her, and even that was rapidly closing. She had to move and she had to move _now,_ but she couldn't seem to wrap her mind around it all.

This couldn't be Arthur. It _couldn't._

She crept forward, ignoring the searing heat and tried to turn the man over. She refused to believe it was Arthur. She _refused._

It was difficult to move him, and she finally managed to twist his torso. The man's face was ruined, nothing but blood and seared meat. The fire was close, too close, and Ariadne gasped at the sight of the mangled head. One of the boxes had fallen onto his face before coming to rest to the side of him.

The gasp brought more searing air into her lungs, and Ariadne was choking. She was going to die of smoke inhalation if she didn't move, and that would defeat the purpose of this. Cobol was dead, all of his high ranking men were dead. Arthur had seen to that before he died.

No. She couldn't think that way. She _couldn't._

Ariadne grasped his duffel bag and started running toward the door they came in through. She ran down the alley ways, nearly blind from tears. She was coughing, smoke and ash in her hair and on her skin. She didn't remember putting up the Thunder, but she must have. She could feel its weight against her skin, almost comforting at this point. Any lingering Cobol goons would get a hollow point into the gut.

Somehow she remembered the way to the basement meeting place where Eames and Yusuf tended to be if not working. She pounded on the door and fell against it as it opened. She dimly heard Eames' "Bloody fucking hell!" of surprise, but let her eyes close.

She was safe, but the world was still ending. Arthur hadn't survived the night.

***

Three weeks later, Eames and Yusuf accompanied Ariadne to the train station. She had a one way ticket to Chicago in her hand, the Bersa Thunder hidden inside of her clothes and the knives in her boots. If either man was amused, they didn't say anything. They had taken the remnants of Arthur's weapons from her when she arrived on their doorstep and helped her recover from the smoke inhalation. The warehouse had burned down to the ground, most of the bodies burned beyond recognition. Arthur was considered dead, and Eames had checked all of his known hiding places. The Fischers were disappointed that one of their best assassins was dead, but took credit for the strike against Cobol. If anything, their empire was solidified even more strongly.

Ariadne was numb to it all. Eames produced a trunk with the belongings he had salvaged from Arthur's raided apartment, as well as brand new clothes. She had merely looked at him, not sure what to say. "You can't start a new life without some nice things, poppet," he'd said with a shrug. He couldn't quite meet her eyes, and it made her dimly wonder how much money Arthur had given him to take care of her. "I thought it would be best if you didn't have to raid Goodwill the first thing on your arrival."

"Thank you," she had said, looking at the trunk. She managed to put a smile on her face for his benefit, and gave him a hug.

Now that the three of them were at the station, a thank you felt so inadequate. "I really appreciate all the help you've given me," she told both men. She forced a smile on her face, even though she felt hollow and empty. Was she still eighteen? She felt so much older.

"It was our pleasure," Yusuf said, clasping her hands tightly. "You know he cared for you very much," he said in a low tone. "He wanted you safe at all costs."

Ariadne blinked back tears she had promised herself she wouldn't shed. "Yeah. Thank you." She gave both of them a tight hug and kiss on the cheek. She startled when Eames pressed a manila envelope into her hands. "What's this?"

"Open it on the train, darling," he said, a wry smile on his lips. "It's a gift. I've taken care of a lot of arrangements for you."

She blinked, not sure what to say. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Survive," he said, shrugging. "It's what we all want."

She nodded, and turned slightly when the conductor announced that passengers could begin to board. "Will I see you again?"

They both smiled. "Chicago's a big city. You never know when you might bump into a friend. Or cousin, yeah?" Eames asked, winking at her. She didn't understand the comment, but gave them both hugs again. She opened the envelope as soon as she found a seat, and to her shock there was a bank book in her name, a set of keys, street maps of Chicago and directions to get to an apartment from the train station. There was a note in Eames' sloping handwriting, stating that he had set up the apartment for her at Arthur's request, then called the school to change her billing address. He had claimed he was her cousin, and that she had applied for the dorms because she hadn't been sure if he would be out of the country or not. Since his business was now sending him overseas, Ariadne could sublet his apartment.

Ariadne looked up, tears in her eyes. She pressed her fingers to the glass, finding them looking at her with smiles on their faces. _Thank you,_ she mouthed, and watched them until the train pulled out of the station.

It was a good thing she had the directions, as she nearly got lost leaving the station when she arrived in Chicago. The next week was spent setting up phone, cable, gas and electric services, as well as contacting the school to confirm the information they had for her. Then orientation began, and it was almost enough to keep her from thinking about Arthur. Almost. She carried a knife with her at all times and she had the guns in her apartment. She checked her apartment the same way he used to and maintained three deadbolts on her door. She felt safe enough to sit near her windows to sketch or read books for her classes, but she didn't dare do that for long.

She felt as though she was being watched, and she wasn't sure if it was her own paranoia. Or maybe she just didn't trust her good fortune. It was too new, too fragile and had come at too high a cost.

Ariadne leaned against the windowsill and looked out at the view. It was a park full of children playing, and for a moment she could almost feel secure and peaceful. "I still love you, Arthur," she sighed into the wind.

She didn't know it, but seven blocks away, perched on a rooftop, Arthur sat looking at her through the scope he normally attached to a high powered rifle. The body in the warehouse hadn't been his, and the ruse had worked perfectly. The Fischers though he was dead, and only Eames and Yusuf knew he was alive. Arthur had a fairly limited skill set, but for the moment, he was his own man. Even though she hadn't asked him to, he intended to watch over Ariadne while she lived in Chicago.

He found himself smiling as he read her lips. "I love you, too," he whispered, knowing she couldn't hear him. He stood, pocketing the scope, and left the rooftop a free man.

The End


End file.
